


talk me down

by polterguy



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: CW TAGS:, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, almost smut occurs but no actual smut occurs, canon typical language, implied/referenced past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polterguy/pseuds/polterguy
Summary: He has no excuse, no reasoning as to why being shirtless with someone straddling him would send him into a panic attack.Wait, is he panicking?Well, he is certainly breathing harder than usual.(There is a short playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/user/fresnodaycrawler/playlist/4cTLFeyfdLy6rmIJ5PuGLT?si=BDsXUADVQzy4olPjQ8D5tA )





	talk me down

**Author's Note:**

> please pay heed to the cw tags. this fic doesn’t go in-depth into sexual assault, but it is heavily implied.

It’s mid-day, but it’s near pitch-black in Jeremy’s room with the blackout curtains shut tight. It’s raining outside, and they both can vaguely hear thunder every few minutes.

Michael sucks hickeys into the sensitive skin of Jeremy’s neck, eliciting a soft noise from his throat. Jeremy grabs Michael’s face and kisses him hard, bucking his hips. Grunting quietly, Michael grinds back down - jerkily at first, then more smoothly as they work themselves into a rhythm. Jeremy licks up into Michael’s mouth, and Michael gasps before sucking on Jeremy’s tongue.

It’s not their first time kissing like this, but for some reason, something feels new. Like something is just waiting to happen.

Maybe it’s the fact that both of them are hard in their jeans.

For Jeremy, it was probably when he noticed Michael staring at him. Before he could ask why, he had been cut off by a warm mouth covering his. He had stood up, Michael following his lips, and walked backwards towards his room, pushing the door open with his elbow while the other boy kissed him insistently.

For Michael, just looking at Jeremy had gotten him going.

So now, their mutual hard-ons are pressing together through denim as they grind on Jeremy’s bed.

And it feels good. So good.

Until Michael moves to straddle Jeremy. When he opens his eyes, Jeremy’s breath hitches in the least sexy way imaginable. It’s halfway to a sob, the sound he makes, like a piece of his soul is being pierced by his ribcage.

“...Jer? You good?” Michael peers down from his position with a tender worry forming in his chest.

“‘M fine,” Jeremy mumbles after a second. “K-keep going.”

“You sure, babe?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy nods.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Michael presses his weight down onto Jeremy’s hips and crotch, and Jeremy closes his eyes, making a small yelp of pleasure from the sudden pressure in the right places. Jeremy places his hands on Michael’s hips, grounding him firmly. Michael pulls his own shirt off, then begins to tug at Jeremy’s.

Jeremy freezes, eyes going glassy as he stares at the ceiling for a second. Something is very wrong.

He really doesn’t want to stop the whole thing, though, doesn’t want to let Michael down. They’ve gone this far, no turning back now, right? Right. So he closes his eyes, makes himself loosen back up, and guides Michaels hands to take the shirt off.

Michael looks worried again, but doesn’t say anything. He moves slowly. Very gingerly, he places a hand on Jeremy’s chest. Jeremy jerks, and then. Then.

He’s not sure if he can feel his legs and he’s not sure if he can move them. He hasn’t moved them in a while now. Michael’s saying something, or asking something, but Jeremy’s head is pounding too loud to hear. He twitches his left leg a tiny bit. It moves.

Jeremy exhales loud, moving his other leg, trying to bend his knees. They move just fine. Good, good. When he opens his eyes, Michael is staring back down at him with a wide, confused look.

“What was that?” Michael asks, bewildered.

“Nothing! Nothing,” Jeremy insists. “Keep going, p-please.” He does his most convincing ‘fine’ face. “I’m just- just nervous. Y’know.”

Even Jeremy isn’t really sure what’s happening. He really does want Michael, but every time something even vaguely resembling it happens, every time Michael does something she would do, Jeremy feels a sick churning in his guts.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, Jeremy?”

How do you explain that every time you close your eyes, your spine constricts? That every time you open them, you’re reminded of the worst night of your life?

Jeremy fucking hates himself so much. He should have liked it, anyway. Teenage boys like sex. He winces at the vile thoughts his brain spews at him. He has no excuse, no reasoning as to why being shirtless with someone straddling him would send him into a panic attack.

Wait, is he panicking?

Well, he is certainly breathing harder than usual.

And everything is muffled.

And hot tears are pricking at his eyes, then welling up and finally dripping down his face.

Fuck.

“-remy?

Jeremy? Can you breathe with me?”

Jeremy opens his eyes again and blinks profusely. Michael is standing by the side of the bed.

“Jeremy?” Michael sounds like he’s about to cry, too.

Jeremy is breathing so hard he’s essentially hyperventilating, and he’s having a hard time stopping.

“Michael?”

“Hey. Hey, just- just please, breathe with me, okay?” Michael breathes in slowly, through his nose, then out from his mouth, lips pursed. “Can you do that for me, Jer?”

Jeremy tries to copy, tries to still himself for long enough to get some control in.

“That’s right, babe. Just, in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Jeremy tries again, this time slower. He copies Michael, pursing his lips.

“Good, good. Kinda like blowing out a candle, okay?” A small, indescribably sad chuckle follows.

Jeremy copies again and again until his breathing is normal, and Michael wipes his eyes.

“Can I touch you right now?”

Jeremy nods, and reaches his hand out. Michael takes it and squeezes it gently.

Jeremy sits up and brings his knees up to his chest. Michael sits down next to him.

Jeremy leans in and hugs Michael tight, a little hiccup of a sob being pulled from his esophagus. Michael hugs back, albeit not as tightly. There’s a new carefulness there.

“‘M sorry, I’m so sorry, Micah, sorry-“ he wavers, voice breaking as hysteria starts to creep back in.

“What’re you sorry for? It’s okay,” Michael says softly. Jeremy pulls away a bit.

“I-it’s not okay, though, Michael, it’s not okay. I’m all fucked up, and I can’t even - can’t even fuck right, and-” He’s crying so hard that it’s starting to be difficult to get the words out, so he speaks between choking on phlegm and sniffling.

“Jeremy. I don’t fucking care about the sex anymore, alright? I just want you to tell me what’s wrong. ...What did I do?”

“Y-you didn’t do anything! It’s m-my fault, my fault and- and-“ He stops to choke back another sob, burying his face in his knees.

“It’s not your fault, okay? Whatever you’re talking about, it’s not your fault,” Michael soothes, squeezing Jeremy’s hand again. “Do you want to talk about it, Jer?”

Jeremy shakes his head.

“That’s okay, babe. It’s gonna be okay.” Michael moves slowly, wrapping his arms around Jeremy gingerly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Jeremy’s breathing slows again to a healthy pace, and tears are pricking again, but it’s a different kind of cry, the kind that you can do quietly. And it’s not the sad cry it was earlier. It’s something else, pulling at Jeremy’s heart, pulling it to meld with Michael’s bare chest.

After a full minute and 28 seconds of silence, Michael asks into the crook of Jeremy’s neck, “Do you want me to make us waffles or eggs or something? it’s not too late for a breakfast-lunch.”

“...I’d like that.”


End file.
